


Coiling Up with You

by waterofthemoon



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Autumn, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Cohabitation, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Romance, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: Three autumn-themed vignettes, featuring Crowley in his snake form and being soft with Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 98
Collections: Snektember 2020





	Coiling Up with You

**Author's Note:**

> It's soft snek hours around here today! This was written for the [Snektember challenge](https://puppy-bums.tumblr.com/post/626849798166904832/welcome-to-snektember-like-september-but-make-it) at GO Events; I picked a few prompts at random that inspired me and wrote this bit of fluff for the fall weather. ❤️

"Crowley, have you seen my jumper?"

The sound of Aziraphale's light footsteps carries up the spiral staircase of the bookshop, closer with every step. Crowley coils into a tighter ball and anticipates him. Some of the gray wool gets caught up with him as he does, bunching up between his coils.

"There you are, you silly thing." Aziraphale finally enters the tiny upstairs flat and crosses the room to where Crowley's lying in wait. He reaches out and strokes Crowley's back, completely unafraid, even when Crowley hisses. "And you've found my jumper, too. Bit drafty in the shop today, I'm afraid."

Crowley darts his tongue out, tasting tea, bergamot, and the base notes of Aziraphale's relief at finding him. "Really, I hadn't noticcced."

"Yes, dreadfully sorry about that. And about this, too, but I do need my jumper back." Before Crowley has a chance to protest, Aziraphale slips both his hands beneath Crowley's underbelly and lifts him up, then deposits him on the armchair next to the cardigan. Crowley makes a bid to slither back onto it, but Aziraphale, with his opposable thumbs, is faster. He scoops it up and slides his arms into it with a little sigh of pleasure. Crowley, definitely, does not pout.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Aziraphale says. Crowley flicks his tongue again in response. "Come here, then, if you want it back so much."

He extends his arm. Crowley, deciding it's in his best interest to give in and accept the invitation, slithers underneath the sleeve, where he can feel Aziraphale's body heat through the thinner fabric of his shirt. From there, it's easy to keep going until his head is poking out somewhere around Aziraphale's chest, and easier still to butt it against Aziraphale's chin.

"There we are." There's a smug satisfaction in Aziraphale's tone that convinces Crowley to nudge him again, a little harder. "Will you come downstairs with me, my dear? Only I've got the accounting to finish, and then I thought I might read for a bit."

Crowley noses around and finds a home for himself amongst the layers fabric, head resting on Aziraphale's chest. He can hear the steady rhythm of Aziraphale's heartbeat.

"I sssuppose that could be arranged," he concedes.

Aziraphale leans over and kisses the top of his head, scales and all. "Splendid."

*

"Angel!" Crowley slithers up onto Aziraphale's leg, up his arm, and across his neck, all without so much as flicking the book he's reading. "I just shed, feel me."

Aziraphale sighs, put-upon, but obediently reaches up and strokes Crowley along the length of his body. Snakes don't purr, so Crowley doesn't purr.

"Oooh, that is nice," Aziraphale admits. He gives Crowley another pat, then withdraws his hand, which is definitely not ideal. "Excellent shed, my dear."

He turns his attention back to his book, then sneaks another glance back at Crowley. Crowley lets out a low hiss and moves down to wrap around Aziraphale's other arm, leaving the coil of his tail curled lightly around Aziraphale's neck.

"Aaaaaaaangel." Crowley tightens his hold and rubs his body along Aziraphale's arm. "I shed. I have—whatsit. Mating chemicals. Hormones?" He pauses to consider his word choice. He definitely has those, but…. "Pheromonesss!"

His triumphant word-finding is spoiled a little by the sudden sibilants, but Crowley doesn't let it deter him, and he slithers down a little farther to flick his forked tongue against Aziraphale's hand. With another heavy, pointed sigh—Aziraphale always knows when he's being tempted, which is part of what makes it so fun—he replaces the ribbon bookmark and sets the book on the side table.

"Did you want something?" Aziraphale asks placidly. Despite the demure act, he spreads his legs in the armchair, just enough that it could be said that he was only getting comfortable. It could be, if Crowley didn't know him so well, and if he wasn't allowing Crowley to glide right into his empty lap.

"That depends," Crowley says. He slides over Aziraphale's inner thighs and questioningly darts his tongue out in the direction of Aziraphale's crotch. "Do you? If not, you can feel free to tell me to slither off—"

"Well," Aziraphale says, coy, as a tent rapidly rises in his trousers. Crowley circles his new target like the snake he is. "Let's not be too hasty about that."

*

It's sleeting in Soho, but Aziraphale fancies a seasonally appropriate latte and, most likely, a heartwarming chat with the barista, so they head off to their usual independently owned coffee shop.

Before they go, Aziraphale puts on an overcoat with a fleece lining and insists on walking the three blocks there and back. He looks warm, so before he can wind a scarf around his neck, Crowley adopts a more waterproof form and takes the place of one, moving up the slick fabric of Aziraphale's coat sleeve with some difficulty before Aziraphale takes pity on him and lifts Crowley onto his neck.

"Oh, very well, then," Aziraphale tuts. "Just don't cause a scene, please. I would hate for a panic to ensure or to have animal control show up in this weather. You aren't exactly a local species, you know."

"Well, that's the understatement of the year," Crowley says in the driest tone he can manage. He touches his tongue to the sensitive spot underneath Aziraphale's ear, making him shiver. "Don't worry; I certainly don't want to be a zoo exhibit or anything of the sort. Let's go get coffee."

He noses his head around Aziraphale's bow tie, trying to get comfortable, until Aziraphale gives in and reaches around him to remove it. That's much better—now he can feel the warmth of Aziraphale's body heat against his scales, flick out his tongue and get a direct hit of Aziraphale's cologne and the other scents that mark him as familiar, safe, home.

The moment they step outside, Crowley knows he's made the right call. Even with Aziraphale's coat sheltering him, he gets rained on, and the rain is cold and icy. He burrows farther down into it as they walk. The fleece doesn't do much for this cold-blooded form, but Aziraphale being warm underneath it all does.

Aziraphale, clearly pleased with himself about it, orders lattes for them both: the hallowed pumpkin spice for himself and a not-quite-seasonal peppermint mocha for Crowley. He opens his mouth to give a token protest like he usually would and immediately realizes that he can't, since non-demonic snakes don't talk and he's supposed to be keeping a low profile. He doesn't mind that too much, though. Maybe he's earned a little spoiling.

When their drinks and Aziraphale's lemon blueberry scone are ready, he wishes the two baristas in the shop on this miserable day—neither of whom commented on Aziraphale's unusual accessory, so points for them—good luck with their university classes and their art commissions, respectively, and then they're back out into the cold, Aziraphale carrying both cups.

"Oh, look, darling." Aziraphale twists the cup so Crowley can see it. "They wrote 'Az's boyfriend' on yours, isn't that nice? I didn't even have to tell them who it was for."

All the baristas who know them have long since stopped bothering to spell Aziraphale's name out, and Aziraphale, he knows, has decided to exercise his angelic forgiveness and stop correcting them about it. They know his name, too, but Crowley decides to let them have this one. The complicated feeling in his chest makes him glad, suddenly, that he's a snake right now. Makes it easier, the whole having emotions deal.

"Yeah, angel." Crowley nuzzles under Aziraphale's chin, then ducks back down under his collar where Aziraphale can protect him from being damp and freezing. "I guess it kind of is."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! You can find me on Tumblr as [@waterofthemoon](https://waterofthemoon.tumblr.com).


End file.
